


Osculation

by Sandrene09



Category: Smosh
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-22
Updated: 2014-12-22
Packaged: 2018-03-02 19:18:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2823128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sandrene09/pseuds/Sandrene09
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A study in kisses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Osculation

**Author's Note:**

> A repost of my fic. This can also be read at my lj and at my tumblr.

It is so very easy to lose one’s self in Anthony’s kisses.

Ian knows this. He knows this like he knows the back of his hand, knows just how powerful Anthony’s kisses are, how they can make his body feel like it’s on fire. By now, he knows how it feels to have Anthony’s tongue in his mouth, touching and giving and taking, how it feels to have Anthony’s hands on his hips, a little too loose and a little too tight at the same time as they keep Ian’s body pressed against his. He knows to expect the lightheadedness that comes with every press of the lips, every touch of eager hands, every slide of skin against skin.

He knows it all. That doesn’t mean it stops being pleasurable, nor does it mean that Ian stops enjoying it all.

In fact, it might even be the opposite. Ian is starting to think he’s actually enjoying it more now than before, now that he has Anthony’s taste constantly sitting at the back of his tongue, now that his hands know Anthony’s body like a map memorized by heart.

Somehow, he knows that it is wildly different, kissing someone whose flavor he has tasted and has longed for, as compared to kissing someone new, someone unknown—a stranger, in every sense of the word. He hasn’t kissed anyone new, but he just _knows_. He is certain of it.

Anthony’s lips crash against his as they struggle to get inside their house. Ian is vaguely aware that they should stop _right now_ because their neighbors might see them—a warning siren that normally blares loudly in his head but is now whisper-like, dulled by the alcohol and the high that he gets from kissing Anthony in public.

He doesn’t get the chance to kiss him often outside the privacy of their home because Anthony isn’t quite ready to let the world know about them yet. It’s sad, yes, but Ian is willing to drop the issue, content with what he has. He would rather have Anthony in private than not at all, after all.

Finally, after a few more halfhearted tries, Ian gets the key into the lock and gets them both inside. Delirious from the lust running through his veins, Ian slams the door closed behind them and lets Anthony lean him against hard wood. Anthony’s hands immediately reach for Ian’s, sliding up, up, up, before finally being content to hold them against the door.

Ian feels dizzy from the barrage of sensations. He lets his eyes fall closed and his arms go slack, trusting in Anthony, knowing his hands will be sure and steady in their hold around Ian’s wrists.

This is how they kiss when passion courses through their veins, when their skins feel too tight, when their entire beings feel too hot. Their kisses are all about giving and taking, about finding release and satisfaction. Their kisses are waves crashing onto the shore, beautiful and almost violent.

Ian feels liquid fire run down his spine as one of Anthony’s hands make their way downwards, towards Ian’s hips. The journey is slow, and Ian can feel Anthony’s hand touch everything it can touch. He tilts his head even more, the height difference between him and Anthony requiring him to do so in order to get as much of Anthony’s exploring kisses as he can.

A moan makes its way out of his throat, deep and nothing like his normal voice, when Anthony’s lips find their way to the junction between Ian’s neck and shoulder. The moment Anthony sucks on the skin there, Anthony lets the hand holding Ian’s against the door fall to Ian’s hips, stopping Ian from bucking and searching for much-needed friction. Finding his hands free, Ian finally gives into the urge to let them explore as much of Anthony as they can. He lets them make their way down Anthony’s chest, pausing for a few seconds to rub Anthony’s sensitive nipples through his shirt, before going onward, down Anthony’s abs, straining and hard.

Another few seconds, another few inches, and finally, Ian touches Anthony in _just_ the right place. He hears Anthony moan, rough and slightly muffled by his shoulder, and he feels it too, the minute vibrations against his heated skin. He feels Anthony’s hands make their way upward until they’re at the back of Ian’s neck, supporting his head, gentle and reverent. It feels like the eye of the storm, the calm in the middle of chaos.

Ian’s hands make their way to Anthony’s hips, and his fingers clutch him tightly.

“We should go to bed,” Anthony says in between kisses, breathy and quiet.

Ian nods, entirely onboard with the idea. He feels drunk on Anthony’s kisses right now. His knees feel like jelly. He feels like Anthony is all that is supporting him.

He’s probably not wrong.

Ian loses himself in the touch of Anthony’s skin, in the taste of his kisses, and soon enough, he’s surprised to find that they’ve made it to their bedroom. Quickly, he lets his hands reach for the edge of Anthony’s shirt, eager to get them off. It’s not too long before they’re both topless, one of Anthony’s hands splayed flat against Ian’s back. They’re pressed right against each other, heated skin against heated skin. Anthony’s fingers run through Ian’s hair while they cradle Ian’s skull, tender caresses that send lightning bolts shooting down his spine, heading to the tips of his toes.

Ian walks backward until the back of his knees meet the edge of the bed. He lets himself go, and as he falls to the bed, he feels Anthony on top of him, a welcome weight. His lips continue to move against Anthony’s in a rhythm only the two of them know, and his hands make their way to Anthony’s ass, touching and squeezing.

He wants their pants off.

With deft fingers, he manages to unbuckle Anthony’s belt, immediately popping the button and unzipping his jeans right after. His hand makes its way inside Anthony’s pants, sure and steady as it makes its way to Anthony’s hot length.

The angle is awkward and Ian knows that his wrist will start to hurt after a few more seconds, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care because he _loves_ this. He loves how Anthony’s mouth has gone slack with pleasure, deep, gravelly groans occasionally making their way from the depths of his throat, and how Anthony is bucking his hips against the pressure, as desperate for friction—for release—as Ian is.

“Take it off,” Ian says, his voice hoarse. “Please.”

Anthony kicks his pants off, and after a few more moments, Ian’s pants join Anthony’s on the floor. Ian is heady from all the sensations, from the low sounds of Anthony’s pants and low moans, from the feel of Anthony’s skin against his hands, both rough and smooth at the same time somehow, and from the taste of Anthony in his mouth. Anthony’s tongue is pressed against his, slipping and sliding, tasting and allowing itself to be tasted.

Ian knows he won’t ever have enough of Anthony’s taste.

Sometimes, like tonight, kissing Anthony makes Ian feel like he’s _drowning_. It’s not as bad as it sounds, no, it just feels like it because there’s little air in Ian’s lungs and his head is light and dizzy.

Soon, their room is filled with the scent of their skins, the sound of their moans. Moonlight filters through the windows, providing a little amount of light in their own little world.

Ian and Anthony briefly part for air, choosing to just lie there, thrusting against each other in search of release, with their foreheads touching, dark, lust-filled eyes focused on the other. Their hands are nowhere and everywhere at the same time, stroking and caressing.

During these times, they’re almost always silent, content to let low moans and rough groans express the intensity of what they’re feeling. Their kisses are hot and heavy. Their fucking is wanton and desperate.

Ian finally loses patience and starts tugging at Anthony’s boxer-briefs, letting the action tell Anthony that Ian wants it off, _now_. Anthony understands, like Ian knows he would, and he takes a brief moment to stop participating in this little passionate dance of theirs.

Once he’s freed from his restraints, he takes care of Ian, his hands making their way to Ian’s hips, his fingers finding the edges of Ian’s briefs. Anthony takes them off and throws them, uncaring as to where they’ll land. Ian feels Anthony press against him, and he lets his lips find Anthony’s. This is territory he knows like the back of his hand. This is something he knows by heart, how his lips should move against Anthony’s, how sliding his tongue just _so_ can make Anthony moan in the deepest way.

His hand finds Anthony’s cock, and he takes the moment to appreciate its girth, the way it leans slightly to the right, before he strokes upward once. Ian revels in the sound of Anthony’s choked moans, revels in the way Anthony lets his head fall to Ian’s shoulder and just _pants_. This is a kind of art no one but him will see and know. Ian feels grateful that he’s the one chosen to appreciate this kind of beauty.

“Wait,” Anthony says, his voice low and quiet.

Ian stops, his eyelids fluttering closed when he feels Anthony’s fist around him, soft sighs escaping his mouth when Anthony starts to move his hand up, down, up, down.

There is a kind of gentleness during these moments. It’s not always there, but when it is, it always manages to take Ian by surprise. It is this tenderness that makes Ian feel like his heart’s about to burst. It is chaste kisses against random body parts and soft sighs that make Ian remember that Anthony loves him like he loves Anthony, even if Anthony doesn’t want them to be public yet.

Ian shifts, and then he lets his fingers interlace with Anthony’s, their joined hands surrounding their cocks. They move up and down, their soft sighs steadily becoming louder, the tight ball of heat at the base of their spines steadily becoming hotter and hotter. Their kisses are now slow, languid, choosing to take their time to relearn each other.

It’s not long before their kisses turn hot and heavy once more, slow strokes turning into quick, desperate ones as the both of them race for release. Ian feels Anthony’s thumb swipe over the head of his cock, and then he’s _gone_ , giving into liquid heat and lightning bolts, every nerve ending in his body coming alive with just one stroke. He groans as his orgasm washes over him, and then he’s aware of Anthony moaning against him and hot liquid against his stomach and chest.

After a few seconds of just them listening to the other catch his breath, Anthony stands up and reaches for his shirt, wiping the come off his chest before cleaning Ian too. Exhausted, Anthony settles for throwing the shirt to the floor and getting under the covers, the cool sheets feeling blissful against his overheated skin.

Ian manages to get under the covers as well, his hands immediately finding Anthony’s hips, and he gets as close as possible to Anthony. They’re both overheated and sweaty, and it feels kind of uncomfortable, but it’s okay. Ian lets himself fall asleep to the sound of Anthony’s soft breathing.

Just before falling asleep, Ian feels the soft press of Anthony’s lips against his forehead, chaste and loving, not forcing, not commanding. This is a different kiss, something that belongs to a category of its own. It’s barely there, but it’s during these times, when Anthony thinks Ian is asleep and won’t be able to feel the press of lips against skin, when Ian feels the scope of what Anthony feels for him.

Ian falls asleep with a smile on his face.

-.-.-.-

Ian wakes up slowly, his eyelids refusing to open, his entire being just wanting to enjoy the comfortable warmth that surrounds him. The sunlight is harsh on his eyes when he finally gets his eyelids to cooperate, but it’s okay.

It’s okay because his eyes are focused on Anthony’s light brown ones, soft and gorgeous and telling him things words would not be able to express. They’re both naked under the sheets, both of them not bothering to put on clothes the night before, and Ian relishes this, the feeling of being close to Anthony. This is another kind of intimacy.

“Good morning,” Anthony says, his voice low and rough, probably because of all those moans he let out last night.

Ian smiles at the thought. “Good morning,” he says in return. Anthony is turned towards him, his eyes on Ian’s face. In this moment, Ian feels like they’re the only people in the world, like nothing can touch them. The birds are chirping outside, a welcome sound in the comfortable stillness of the air.

“What do you want to do today?” Anthony whispers despite—or maybe because of—the silence in the room.

Ian shrugs, or at least does what he can while lying on a bed. “I don’t know,” he says. “What do you want to do?”

Anthony smiles at him, gentle and genuine, his eyes giving him a look that is indescribably fond. He leans forward and presses a chaste kiss to Ian’s lips, a kiss given not for the intention of it turning into something more, but given for the sake of it.

It’s not perfect—they both have bad breath—but it’s perfect _enough_.

For a few minutes—or maybe they’re hours, Ian can’t possibly tell, too busy enjoying the moment—they continue to speak in hushed tones, content to stay in their little cocoon of warmth. Sometimes, they pause their conversation to press chaste kisses on an eyebrow, the tip of a nose, a cheek, overcome by the urge to just _do_. These kisses aren’t heated the way their kisses last night were, like violently boiling water. These kisses are heated, but only a bit. It’s a simmering kind of heat, the kind that can be allowed to turn into more but can also be enjoyed on its own.

Ian likes enjoying it on its own merit. He can tell Anthony does, too. It probably has something to do with how Ian doesn’t get many chances to experience this kind of kissing—they don’t kiss in public, and in private, it’s almost always heated, almost always supposed to turn into the kind that searches for release.

“We should go get breakfast,” Anthony says in a low tone, a hint of a smile on his face. Ian loves being able to see this, the kind of happiness on Anthony’s face that he _knows_ he is the cause of.

“We should,” Ian agrees, but for a few minutes, neither of them gets up from the bed, unwilling to leave the comfortable warmth.

After a few more minutes of conversation, they finally find the will to start their day, both of them getting up from the bed and donning comfortable clothes. Ian, still a bit too comfortable with how his day has started, moves slowly. He barely has his shirt on before Anthony loses patience and gets his hand, exiting their bedroom.

Ian smiles as he feels Anthony’s lips touch the back of his hand. This is another kind of kiss that he appreciates for its own worth. It’s not fire at all, not heated in the way the other kisses are boiling or simmering. This kind of kiss is the warmth of the sun kissing his skin.

Ian is aware this makes it sound like Anthony’s his sun.

He’s all right with that.

-.-.-.-

“They’ve invited us to another rewind video,” Anthony says as he sits down on the couch beside Ian. He has his phone in his hand, the email from the guys at Youtube open on the screen.

Ian raises an eyebrow, busy reading over the script open on his Macbook. “That’s great,” he says distractedly. “We’re going, right?” he asks despite already knowing the answer.

“I don’t know,” Anthony answers, and _that_ gets Ian’s attention, making him look up from his laptop and focus his gaze on Anthony, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. He thought he knew what the answer would be—apparently, he was wrong on that assumption.

“What? Why?” he asks. They’ve always accepted the invitation before, never mind that this would only be the third time Youtube’s done this. Not to mention that very few people get the invitation yearly—it would be a waste if they didn’t go this year.

Anthony blinks, his attention still on his phone. “I—” he begins to say, before clearing his throat. “They want us to recreate the ‘First Kiss’ video.”

It’s not a clear answer. If anything, Ian is actually more confused. “Okay,” he says slowly, looking at his hands as he removes his Macbook from his lap and transfers it to the seat nearby. “So?”

Anthony looks up from his phone and gives Ian a _look_. It’s because of that that _oh_ , Ian gets it.

Ian blinks. “It’s because of that?” he asks, almost letting the hysteric frustration bubbling up inside him to let itself be known through his tone of voice. “You can’t be serious,” Ian says, not knowing what else to say.

It’s the truth. Anthony can’t possibly be passing up this amazing opportunity because of something like _that_. They’ll find a way around it, although a small voice at the back of Ian’s head is whispering that they _shouldn’t_ have to find a way around it, that they shouldn’t have to _hide_.

Besides, one of Anthony’s reasons as to why he wanted to keep this a secret is because he wanted them to continue being professional as regards to their job. _This_ is the exact opposite of what he’s wanted. Here is a luxury only few in their line of job get and Anthony’s willing to throw it away. Where’s _his_ sense of professionalism now?

“You don’t understand, Ian,” Anthony says, his voice steady.

Ian shakes his head. “What _don’t_ I understand?” he asks, all his attention on Anthony now. He wants _him_ to understand what Ian’s thinking, what he’s feeling. Right now, he’s feeling like a dirty little secret—like Anthony’s ashamed to be seen with him—and it’s not a good feeling at all. “Tell me,” he almost pleads, because more than he wants Anthony to understand him, _he_ wants to understand Anthony and his point of view. “I have to admit, what I don’t understand is why you’re scared of this so much.”

Anthony sighs, putting his phone beside him. “Aren’t you scared?”

“No,” Ian answers.

“Then why have we been hiding this for so long?” Anthony asks, genuinely curious, like he doesn’t know the answer.

How could Anthony not know? How could he not have seen the things Ian has done for him, have felt the things Ian has felt for him? How could he possibly not know that Ian will do absolutely anything to keep him happy?

Ian keeps his calm, keeps the roaring waters at bay. Shouting will not lead to anything good, he reminds himself, before slowly saying, “because you wanted us to. And because I would do anything you ask.”

They’ve been together for a year. It’s been a year of them going on dates that aren’t really dates because they have their camera with them and they film themselves eating for Lunchtime with Smosh. They don’t eat outside at night because Anthony’s not comfortable with it. It’s been a year of them filming in the Smosh house and pretending that they don’t share bedrooms. It’s been a year of them constantly having to lie to their friends when they ask them how life is.

It’s been a year of Ian having to constantly remind himself that what he has with Anthony is good and that he should be content with what he has. He’s lucky enough to have found this man, after all, despite not being able to be seen in public with this man in a romantic setting.

To outsiders, they’ve always just been best friends.

Ian thinks he’s done with just being the best friend.

Don’t get him wrong, there’s nothing wrong with being the best friend. In fact, it’s actually an honor to be someone’s best friend for so long like Ian has been with Anthony. It’s just that how can he possibly let himself be called as such when he’s already heard Anthony call him something more than that? It’s like going back to eating store-bought pie after having a taste of a homemade one.

Ian resists the urge to rub the back of his neck in frustration. “Why are you so scared?”

Anthony looks away from him, instead focusing his gaze on his phone, murmuring, “we don’t have to reply to their email now. We’ll just talk about it later—”

Shaking his head, Ian says in a clipped tone, “no. Let’s talk about this now. Why are you so scared?”

Anthony seems to steel himself before finally meeting his gaze once more. “Why aren’t you?”

Ian inhales deeply. He had always told himself to be content with what he has. Now, however, it’s different. Everything is. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to continue this if what he and Anthony have—something that means a lot to him—is something Anthony is ashamed of. A relationship is a two-way street.

“Because our friends will understand,” Ian says with absolute conviction. He’s _sure_ of that. “Because our fans will understand. Because the guys at Google will understand. Frankly, I think the only one who doesn’t understand it is _you_.”

And _oh_ , that hurts more than Ian thought it would. Blinking, he takes a deep breath.

“Are you ashamed of me?” Ian asks after a few seconds pass, and he _hates_ how it sounds in the room filled with tension, how it sounds too soft and too vulnerable.

He’s aware that the answer might be the one he doesn’t want to hear. Call him a masochist, but he has to _know_.

Anthony opens his mouth, quick to refute what Ian has said, but no words come out of his open mouth. There is pain in his brown eyes and a bit of frustration too.

Ian looks down at his lap, watches his hands for a while—they feel entirely foreign to him, like he’s an outsider looking in, like he’s not the one controlling them—before nodding slowly. He smiles, but it’s a sad facsimile of one, forced and not at all joyful the way smiles should be.

He bites his lip to keep himself from crying. He feels _raw_. He doesn’t want to be here any longer. “I guess I have my answer,” Ian says softly, before getting his laptop from the seat near him and standing up.

“Ian—” Anthony says, pleading, but Ian shakes his head. He needs to be alone.

Not looking at Anthony, Ian says, “I have to go.”

There are no kisses that day, or the next two days, for that matter. And _that_ , the lack of kisses, it means something—it’s two people unwilling to back down and compromise. It’s two people pretending they can make it days with the other not speaking directly to them. It’s two people being a little too close to the breaking point.

-.-.-.-

Ian is aware that he can’t change Anthony’s beliefs overnight.

He knows he can’t dispel the fear that’s been haunting Anthony and has been putting their relationship on pause for too long in a single day. That’s why it’s so frustrating. How could it not be, when Ian and Anthony are skirting around each other in their own home? Ian is sick of walking on eggshells every time Anthony’s around. He shouldn’t have to feel so uncomfortable in their home.

It doesn’t feel right.

Anthony is a very tactile person. Days without hugs—without kisses—feel wrong, and Ian feels like half of him has been submerged in ice-cold water for the past few days, like half of him can feel what Anthony feels.

Ian has never been the kind of talk about things he desperately wants to talk about. Anthony has always been the kind to be frustratingly stubborn. This results in evenings spent with both of them sleeping as far away from each other as they can while still lying on the same bed, only for them to wake up the next day in the middle of the bed, their arms and legs around the other.

There are no sleepy kisses on his brow at night, or chaste kisses on his lips in the morning. There are no kisses on the back of his hand. Ian misses those, of course, but he’s just _done_. He’s done hiding this.

After a year of hiding, he thinks his thoughts deserve to be acknowledged. And if Anthony can’t understand that, well—

—Ian doesn’t actually know. He doesn’t know what he’ll feel when eventually, Anthony will have to make a choice. It’s him, or it’s not. It doesn’t bode well for them that he’s actually dreading what Anthony’s answer will be.

Ian breathes in deeply when he checks his email and finds the same request letter from the guys at Youtube. He’s alone in their makeshift office at home. For once, he’s grateful that Anthony’s not there to see him crumble on the inside.

Sighing, Ian closes the web browser and shuts down his computer.

He doesn’t read the email.

-.-.-.-

Ian can’t count the number of times he and Anthony have kissed even if he tried.

There are ones which leave him breathless and yearning for something that can ease the burning under his too-tight skin. There are ones which make him smile, reminding him of what he has. There are ones which convey emotions better than words. There are ones which are uncomplicated—beautiful in the way simple things are.

All of them are special. All of them make him feel things he has never felt with anyone else before.

He thinks he’ll never feel these again if Anthony decides it’s not worth it to come out to the public.

-.-.-.-

Anthony eventually makes a decision.

Ian is lying on the couch, his eyelids fluttering closed, sleepy and tired, when Anthony walks in the door. Ian doesn’t open his eyes, no, thinking that it’s probably for the best if he just pretends that he’s already asleep (and _oh_ , how he _hates_ that he has to fake being asleep) and that he doesn’t know that Anthony’s just standing at the doorway, something he knows from the lack of footsteps that say otherwise. It’s not a hard thing to do—faking being asleep, that is—because he honestly _is_ very tired, and he can feel himself falling under, bit by bit.

He hears Anthony release his breath, and suddenly, he’s being shaken awake. Ian opens his eyes and finds himself captivated by Anthony’s brown orbs, looking soft and pleading and _sorry_. Anthony is kneeling beside the couch, his face mere inches from Ian’s, their breaths mingling from the closeness. Ian can feel electricity spark as he and Anthony keep their gaze on the other, neither wanting to back out from this little competition of theirs.

Anthony blinks, and then he reaches down and kisses Ian.

This is different from all the others. This is soft and pleading. This is a hesitant sweep of Anthony’s tongue against Ian’s lips, as if Anthony is afraid that Ian would refuse him access. This is tender and loving.

Ian lets his eyes fall closed and kisses back, trying to reign in the hunger. It’s just been days, but he misses this. He misses soft sighs against skin, little hitching breaths, too-loud gasps in the stillness of their own home. He misses kisses given just for the sake of it.

He misses Anthony.

He lets Anthony take him to their bedroom, lets him tenderly remove every article of clothing. He lets out soft sighs as he feels Anthony’s lips trail down, kissing his shoulder blade, his sternum, his palms. He lets Anthony map out his entire being with his lips and tongue, lets Anthony relearn his body with little nips. These are exploratory kisses, soft and unhurried, done for Anthony to take the chance to take what he has missed.

Slowly, Anthony eases him open. He takes his time, kissing Ian in random spots while doing so. Ian’s eyes roll to the back of his head in pleasure, little gasps leaving his slack mouth. For the time being, they’re both silent, not wanting to shatter the peace that has fallen upon them. All that leave their mouths are moans and gasps, whimpers and pants. There are no words.

Ian watches as Anthony puts on a condom and lathers a generous amount of lube all over his cock, smiles a bit as Anthony kisses his right knee before getting into the proper position. Anthony takes Ian’s left leg with his right hand, raises it up a bit, and enters Ian slowly, pausing a bit as he watches Ian like a hawk, ready to stop the moment discomfort makes itself known on Ian’s face.

“Okay?” Anthony asks, his voice soft.

Ian breathes out slowly before nodding, sighing happily as Anthony moves even deeper inside him. After a few more moments, he says, “move, please,” and Anthony complies. Slowly, Anthony moves away before thrusting back inside, making electricity shoot down Ian’s spine.

Where before they were both silent, now, they are both speaking, saying sweet nothings. The room is filled with “yes” and “harder, please” and “ _more_ ” from Ian, and Anthony’s not much better off, saying things like “love you” and “never again” and “I’m sorry”.

Anthony’s thrusts become more powerful, and they start to make Ian arch off the bed, his mouth open in a wordless moan. Ian’s toes curl into the mattress as pleasure rocks his entire being, and Ian is vaguely aware of gasps leaving his mouth as Anthony’s hand surrounds him.

His fingers have found their way to Anthony’s hair, soothing and _not_ at the same time. Incoherent with pleasure, Ian tugs Anthony’s hair until Anthony reaches for him and kisses him deeply, passionately.

This kiss is a lot of things. It’s an “I love you” and an “I missed you” and an “I want you” in a single form of expression. Still thrusting, Anthony kisses various parts of his face before returning back to kissing Ian’s lips slowly, exploratory, like Anthony is relearning Ian’s flavor.

Anthony is moving deep inside of him, igniting a set of nerves that make everything else in Ian come alive with white-hot pleasure, and he has his hand around Ian’s cock, moving up and down slowly, almost tenderly. Anthony kisses him on the lips, on the neck, on the shoulder blades, and Ian feels apologies pressing into his skin, saying “I’m sorry” better than words ever could.

This is an apology.

When Anthony goes back to kissing Ian’s lips like he just can’t get enough of it, the kiss feels like a promise.

It’s not long before Ian comes, the sensations becoming too intense for him to handle. He moans loudly as he clenches his fists in the sheets, hot liquid making its way to his stomach and chest. When Anthony comes, Ian hears the “I love you” that comes out of his mouth.

That night, after Ian has wiped them both clean and after Anthony has thrown away the condom, they sleep together, entwined.

It’s a start.

-.-.-.-

“I replied.”

Ian looks up from his bowl of cereal, still feeling a bit sleepy. “Hm?” he asks, his mouth full.

Anthony smiles at him, fond. “To the email, I mean. The one about Youtube Rewind 2014,” he says before taking a spoonful of cereal from his bowl.

“Oh,” Ian says when he has swallowed his cereal. “When?”

Anthony shrugs. “This morning, while you were asleep.”

“And?”

Anthony takes a deep breath. “I said yes,” he replies nonchalantly, as if this wasn’t something they were having a fight about just days ago.

Ian blinks. He lets the hand holding his spoon to his mouth return to the white bowl. “Oh. Wow,” he says, wordless. His mouth feels dry.

There are no more questions. Anthony stands up from his seat across Ian and walks around the table, stopping once he’s beside Ian. He kneels down and takes Ian’s face in his hand, his thumb on Ian’s chin, as he kisses him.

This is Anthony saying he’s ready.

Ian kisses back, letting his tongue slide against Anthony’s.

This is Ian saying he’s thankful.

-.-.-.-

They’re in a studio, a green screen on the wall behind them, and Ian feels nervous.

He shouldn’t be, he reminds himself—Anthony has told him he was ready, after all, had been the one to reply to the request—but he just _is_. There’s a dozen people working the cameras and a dozen more who will manage other parts of the shoot. They’re all about to watch him and Anthony kiss.

It’s a bit terrifying, if he’s going to be honest with himself. It makes him want to run, to do something with his hands, to keep his mind busy. Reading is not an option right now, as his ability to concentrate during times like these is shit, and he doesn’t think he’ll be able to handle sitting down.

A guy named Bill has talked to them and told them how things will work, told them that in the middle of the scene, ice water will be poured down on them. He didn’t tell them when exactly it will be poured, wanting the surprise on their faces to be shown on camera.

Soon, it’s time to begin the shoot. He and Anthony go to their respective places and walk slowly, turning toward each other and shrugging. Ian puts his hands on Anthony’s hips, reminding himself to stop being so stiff because he _has_ done this before, damn it, and he feels Anthony put his hand behind Ian’s head, his fingers sliding through Ian’s hair.

This is familiar territory.

Ian closes his eyes and just goes for it, kissing Anthony. Tension leaves him the moment his lips touch Anthony’s, and he can feel the anxiety in him start to fade away.

After a few seconds of kissing, he and Anthony break away, both of them looking at the other with goofy smiles on their faces. It’s done. There’s no going back. People finally _know_.

Ian blinks, before turning to the crew. “Uhh,” he says, confused, “where’s the ice water?”

The director seems to come to himself, a grin appearing on his face. “Well I’ll be damned,” he says, shaking his head fondly at the both of them, before breathing in deeply. “We’ll reshoot that, okay?”

Ian and Anthony both nod, smiling.

They go back to their initial places, much more relaxed. Ian is no longer nervous. This is a shoot and this is kissing Anthony—both of these are things Ian is familiar with. He kisses Anthony and feels a smile creep on his face as he feels Anthony’s tongue sliding against his, familiar.

Despite them recreating the scene of the “First Kiss” video, this isn’t like their first kiss at all. Their first kiss had been awkward, their noses bumping and mouths missing before finally fitting in like puzzle pieces. This is a kiss that is smooth, borne out of practice. They know this intricate dance.

Finally, ice water pours on top of them and they separate, letting out surprised sounds as the cold seeps into their clothes. Laughing, Anthony grabs Ian by the waist and kisses him deeply before separating once more, smiles on their faces.

This kiss tastes a bit like victory, Ian thinks. It tastes like love and freedom. It’s a promise.

Ian loves it.

-.-.-.-

Anthony slides buttons into their holes deftly, his fingers quick and precise. “They’ve posted the video.”

Ian hums in acknowledgement, busy buttoning his own shirt. “And?”

Anthony smiles, looking up from the buttons on his shirt and directing his attention to Ian. “The fans love it.”

Ian smiles. “We probably have to make a video explaining things.”

Anthony nods, walking towards Ian. “We probably have to,” he agrees, and Ian hears the approval in Anthony’s tone. Ian feels the same, actually—it doesn’t feel like a chore. He actually _wants_ to finally be able to tell the world about him and Anthony.

He’s had a year of having Anthony to himself. He thinks it’s finally time for them to share what they have with the rest of the world.

Anthony’s phone buzzes. Anthony chuckles as he spares a glance at the screen. Not bothering to reply to whoever it is, he puts his phone in his pocket.

“What is it?” Ian asks just as he finishes buttoning his shirt.

“It’s nothing,” Anthony replies, sounding happy. “The guys are congratulating us, you know.”

Ian nods. “Yeah, they’ve been texting me too,” he says. Ian grabs his wallet and phone, putting them in his pocket before asking, “let’s go?”

Anthony smiles before getting Ian’s hand and kissing the back of it. “Yeah, let’s. I don’t want to be late for our date.”

Smiling, Ian walks even further into Anthony’s personal space and kisses him, his hands on Anthony’s waist. After a few seconds, he backs away for oxygen. His heart feels light and fluttery and he feels warm inside.

This is the kind of kiss that reminds him of just how much power Anthony has over him, of just what Anthony can do to make him hurt. It’s also the kind of kiss that reminds him of just how happy Anthony can make him.

It’s the kind of kiss that lets Ian express just how in love he is with Anthony without words. He knows it’s the same for Anthony.

He just knows.

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Smosh. I don’t make money from this.


End file.
